Chapter Thirty Seven:
Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea
"I hope you're not always this late, Mr. Sands," my 'date' stands to greet me (I hear the chair scrap as she gets up.)
"It ah – was one of those mornings," I offer up a charming little smile – probably the kind of smile her old man has warned her all about. I also offer her my hand – dead on to where I know she is. "Is it still Lewin?" I ask – Marcus didn't mention if there was a son in law in the picture…
"Yes. But Lucile is fine."
"Not Lucy?" I smirk.
"No."
Ooh, ice. I politely wait for her to sit back down before taking the chair across from her. Spencer settles quietly at my feet, just under the table. (We're in a quiet little upscale diner – just the kind of place I'd expect a high priced lawyer to have her morning eggs.)
"You seem to be getting along well," Lucile observes, "My father said I should get the details from you – but that you had only recently lost your sight –?"
She definitively doesn't have her father's charm – in fact she doesn't have his accent either. I wonder if she trained herself out of it – or if she grew up somewhere other than Texas. "About a month ago," I answer her question – our waitress arrives. (Oh yeah, and on Beth's 'gentle instance' I'm wearing a dress shirt and suit – she tells me the shirt is burgundy and that by the time I get back from my trip that orange shirt will be history. She did give me her word that she wouldn't touch my t-shirts, thought – apparently there's just something about orange she doesn't like, something about not wanting to think about me in an orange jumpsuit for the rest of my life. With that in mind, I don't think I'm going to miss that orange shirt one bit… However, back to the moment at hand…) I ask the waitress for a cup of coffee – still think of Belini when I order coffee – and she asks if we're ready to order food.
"Do you need a minute?" Lucile inquires – down right politely, too.
"Nah – pretty much every place around her serves eggs – over, bacon, white toast," I turn my head in the general direction of the waitress offering up a polite little smile as I hand her the menu that was sitting on my place mat.
(Lewin gets some sort of fruit dish thing – sounds entirely too healthy for my taste.) "So – what exactly caused your blindness?" She says after the waitress departs.
"Ahh – yeah. You probably don't want to hear about that over breakfast. Let's talk about something else instead."
"Such as?"
"Such as – I have no idea how much you know about – well, anything."
"I know who my father works for, Mr. Sands – or should I be calling you officer?"
"Technically I'm suspended – I'm expecting to end up with a medical retirement."
"You sound very optimistic."
No, I'm a good bullshitter… "Under the circumstances – I'm no good in the field and even if I wanted to sit behind a desk – I still wouldn't be very useful there either."
"So you have no vision at all?"
"Yeah – yeah, you could say that." My coffee arrives – I offer the waitress a polite 'thank you' smile and listen to her retreat before continuing, "And before you ask, it's irreversible." I manage to get the words out in a completely neutral tone. I think I deserve a pat on the back for that. It takes me just a moment to locate the sugar – unlike the fake stuff, you can feel the graininess of the sugar in the packet. Zach taught me that – which reminds me, I need to ask Milo for his address so I can send him a fruit basket… I really was a miserable student.
"Job related injury, I presume?" (I wonder if she was watching me – studying me – or just politely going about her business trying not to stare at the blind guy.)
"Yes," I affirm.
"All right," it sounds like she's getting out a pad of paper and pen to take notes. "Let's talk about the charges that have been brought against you – my dad filled me in on what he knew, but I'd like to get it from you."
I play along and list off the charges as I remember them. I even try to sound serious about it. She asks some questions – most of which I really can't answer (well, I could, but – yeah, I'm in enough hot water as it is. At this rate, by the time I end up dealing with some family court judge I'll be so good at saying, 'Sorry Sugar that's classified' I won't even have to think about it… hope I don't end up with some old codger of a judge, that could just be awkward, with me calling him Sugar…)
"And you're really expecting to walk away from all this with a medical retirement?" she sounds skeptical. (Our food arrived a while ago and I don't know about her, but I'm about half way through my eggs. Lucy over there seems to be doing more writing than eating – of course if I had the grapefruit and melon bowl in front of me, I wouldn't be real interested in eating, either…)
"Your old man tell you I've been moonlighting at the DOJ?" I inquire.
"He was a little vague about that, other than telling me I needed to talk you out of doing anything stupid."
"I think it's probably a wee bit late for that, Sweet Stuff – but ah – my boss lady tells me I'm going to need an attorney present when she hauls my ass in front of a federal judge – "
"Have you signed anything?"
"What sort of anything?"
"Any sort of anything."
"Not really – why?"
"Because if you haven't signed something, not only don't you have any kind of legal protection – no deal, no nothing. I really hope you get that. The days of a handshake are long gone and verbal contracts are only worth the price of the paper they're written on."
Gee, I wonder if she could have said that any more clearly… I just give her one of my little smiles.
"But the good news is that even if the other side wants to say you've got a deal in place, I can get you out of any kind of verbal arrangement you've made – but never, ever agree to anything again without a lawyer present. Never even open your mouth without a lawyer present, because no matter what they say, because the prosecution will use every word you say against you."
She's her father's kid all right…
"So – what I need from you right now is total honesty. I need you to tell me exactly what they're offering – and exactly what they want in return. I can't help you if you hold back – and I don't care what they say, the prosecution is not your friend, Sands. They're only out to hang you and anybody they can get you to roll over on."
And you know, I just hate cold hard reality… but… trust my instincts, Beth said. Trust those same instincts that let me down with Ajedrez… I could really use a cigarette about now. Of course there's no such thing as a smoking section any more… "I work for the prosecution, Sweet Stuff," I tell her. "Testifying in federal court is just part of the drill." I sound a whole fuck of a lot more confident than I really feel, let me tell you. "Having an 'outside' attorney present is just a part of the whole dog and pony show Eddas wants me to put on for the boys back at Langley. You should understand about those – it was your old man who taught me all about perception and misdirection." Which is why I honestly hate doing this… this part of this, because I'm setting a fire underneath one of the few bridges I never wanted to burn. I honestly like Marcus – he was one of the best teachers I ever had. But I know him. He's like a pit bull when he gets his teeth into something and I have got to get him to back the fuck off me. The only way I'll ever do that, without blowing this whole thing sky high, is to convince him that I'm really a 'traitor' to the CIA, that I really set out to burn the Company (because first and foremost, he is a loyal Company man. Just like I used to be, until the people I trusted turned on me and I got my eyes drilled out of my fucking skull… )
"How long have you worked with the DOJ," Lucy asks. (Sounds like I've ruffled a few feathers. Good.) "And don't tell me that's classified."
"No. But – I still can't tell you."
"Look – Sands – if you want my help –"
I put a sharp edge in my tone, "No – your old man wants me take your help because he just can't bring himself to believe I'm really the little rat that I am. Honestly, I think his ego's just wounded because he didn't see it coming, and I don't have to tell you that he likes to think he knows everything there is to know." The only way to be sure she'll tell him this load of crap is make it good enough – personal enough – that she'll want to tell him. I still don't like it, but if I don't get Marcus off my back… I just can't risk his getting involved. He could blow my only chance to get out of this mess without even meaning to.
"You've already discussed this whole thing with DOJ, haven't you?" Oh yeah, she's not happy.
"It's my job to tell them everything I do." And pretty soon this poor girl is gonna need hip waders, because the shit is gettin' pretty deep around here… but everything in me is telling me that Eddas is on the level, and trusting her is the only chance I have to walk away from this. She might not like me, but she values Milo's judgment – and I know he's not screwing with me.
…This has to do with me and six guys pinning me to a wall, pounding the shit out of me, just because I walked out of a particular bar on a particular street in a particular section of town… you had the power to either help me – or walk away. Regardless of the reason – you helped me…
Milo. I trust him. I trust his reason for sticking his neck out for me. (I think it's stupid and careless of him to do it over me and him and six guys – but maybe that's why I believe him when he tells me it really goes back to that night sixteen years ago. And… maybe it goes back to a cold dark cell, too – and some really bad karaoke.)
"I'm not sure I can help you, Mr. Sands," Lewin's tone is ice.
I shrug. "I'm just here to placate an old 'friend'." My tone is blasé, but I put just the right emphasis on the word friend to tell her that it doesn't mean shit to me. The final insult, because I'm sure Marcus had to twist her arm a little – and he probably even managed to say some good things about me… and here I am, the unappreciative little rat watching that bridge go up in smoke.
Our waitress brings the bill – I offer to pick it up and Lewin lets me. She's quick to make her exit. I stay behind and have another cup of coffee before calling into the office to have Ryan come fetch me. I'd rather take a cab – but I'm sure I'm being watched and it'll be better for this little production if Marcus hears that I was picked up by a guy from DOJ. Shit. Shit, fuck, damn and Hell. I really hate this – but it's just business. Marcus would do the same thing to me if he had to and I know it.
Ryan seems to pick up on my bad mood and offers little in the way of friendly chit-chat on the way in. Thank goodness for small favours…
I give Eddas the run down on my breakfast meeting (just the bare bones of it). She seems to think it's better for me to use her friend anyway – and she has the name of a good family law attorney, for me and a school that she says will take Emma. Apparently it's her old high school alma mater – and she serves on the board of directors.
"I had to pull a few strings – but – I want you to believe that I'm on your side, Sands."
I just smile – if she had idea what I'd really done this morning, she'd know I have even less of a choice now as I did before. Marcus isn't just anybody. He might not have a big corner office or some long important title – but he's the guy everybody respects. He was my favourite teacher – and I was one of his favourite students. Even after several – er – incidents, you know the sorts of things that got my happy little ass shipped off to Mexico, Marcus is who I would have called, if Milo hadn't shown up first (because let's face it, I wouldn't have thought to call my Sugar Butt, no matter how bizarre our little history.) But Milo did show up – and with the kind of news he had to give me… no, this is my only way out and I know it. "I brought along that paperwork we talked about before – from Emma's mother's attorney."
"Good – do you mind if I call this guy on your behalf, if I have any questions?"
"Go for it," I shrug at her.
"How – how did the rest of last night go?" She asks – it sounds sincere. Not nosey – just – fucking sincere.
"I didn't get much sleep," I level with the lady. "But – I've gotten by on less."
"You'll be ok – I'm not going to get any calls from irate state troopers about one of my guys on a sleep-deprived shooting spree?"
I smirk at her, "Nah – they'll never catch me."
We have time to get through a little business – and then it's off to the airport for me and my little assistant.
My favourite CD keeps me company all the way to Santa Fe, but even though I manage to grab a quick nap on the flight, I'm still exhausted when we finally land. And you know how cheerful I am when I'm tired…
"So why exactly are we here?" Tonto wants to know. He's collected our baggage and we're headed towards the car rental place.
"Just like I told Eddas – I have personal business in town."
"But you said something about Dan Collins – "
"Why don't you just say that a little louder – they might not have heard you in Cuba."
"What – ?"
"Look, kid, it's not like I really expect anyone to be eavesdropping, but you do realize that I'm probably being tailed, right?"
"By whom?"
"Let's see – who could it be, who could it be – well I don't know the fucking CIA, maybe?" I hiss, just loud enough for him to hear but no one else.
"But – they can't – "
"Oh grow up and smell the conspiracy. If you think for a New York second that we never do anything on U.S. soil than I've got some real fine land down in Leezieanna t' sell ya." Kids. I swear.
"But – "
"But how about just shutting up and getting us a car – something with some leg room. We'll be driving to Texas from here."
"What?"
"Ok, you'll be driving to Texas from here – although technically I still have my license, so I mean, hey, if you want me to take a turn behind the wheel just say so – " yeah, I'm a real peach when I haven't had enough – shut eye. Fuck. "Just get a damn car." I park my ass in the first chair my cane bangs into. Good thing no one else was sitting there…
a short while later a much more subdued Tonto returns to tell me he's rented us a Malibu. Not my first choice, but ok, it'll do. "What colour?"
"What difference does that make?"
"Just fucking humour the blind guy," I bark at him, lighting up a cigarette as soon as we hit the great outdoors (I managed to remember to pick up a couple of packs before we left D.C.)
"Dark blue – why."
"Good. Never rent a red car."
"Why?"
"Well, ok, I shouldn't say never rent a red car, it depends on what your intentions are. White is the least noticed by the fuzz – off white, too. Dark blue is good though, especially at night. Better than black – black isn't really the best colour for sneaking around after dark, contrary to popular myth and ninga movies."
"Ah – do I really want to know what you're up to?"
"Probably not. But first things first," I give him the general directions to our first stop.
……………………………………….
"Please tell me you're not going to rob a bank," Tonto says (I'm pretty sure it's a joke) as we pull up in front of one of Santa Fe's larger banking establishments.
I favour him with a charming little smile. "Be right back – keep the engine running." And Spencer and I head in.
It doesn't take me long to get what I need – just a few items out of a safety deposit box. I don't even need eyes to pick out what I came for – not that I ever thought so far ahead as to prepare for having to go through my box blind, but I always expected that if I ever had to collect this stuff, I'd be in a hurry.
What am I here for? A couple of bankbooks (not this bank) – an address book – a couple of keys – nothing at all important looking. I stow everything into the inner pocket of my suit coat and I'm back to the car before Tonto can even get bored.
"Now what?" Tonto inquires.
"Mail."
"Male?"
"Mail – as in the stuff you send through – the mail." I give him the directions… this is gonna be a long couple of days, I just know it…
My P.O. box isn't from the U.S. Postal Services. I prefer one of those private little places, where for just a few dollars more they'll automatically discard the junk mail and they don't really care how often I get around to picking up my shit. And it's not as if I have gobs of mail – I set this box up specifically for Holly and no one else ever knew about it, so I'm only expecting half a dozen or so envelopes. What I'm handed is close to four times that – and I've gotta get someone to read it all to me… Christ. On a fucking crutch.
I slide back into the passenger seat (yes, I really made little Tonto pull up the curb, no-parking zone and all, and wait for me in the car. Again.) "Ok. Texas or bust." I tell him as I'm lighting my cigarette.
"Is that it – two stops – that's the big personal business?"
"Yep, that's it. Drive."
"Uh – where exactly am I going?"
"Texas – that'd be East, there, Buckaroo."
"I meant where in Texas?"
"Pull into a gas station – buy a map." This would be so much fucking easier if I could just get behind the wheel. Of course if I could do that I probably wouldn't be where I am at all… I think I need to get in a nap before I remove the boy's head – literally.
After putting Tonto on the right path (I won't even begin to tell you how much fun that was), I tilt my seat back, pull my hat over my eyes (just out of habit, of course. The sun could be right on my face and I'd still only see darkness…) Despite the fact that if I weren't sitting, I'd be ready to fall over, I'm honestly just that tired, I have a Hell of a time actually dozing off… You have no idea of the psychological impact of being able to shut your eyes until you just can't do it any more…
"Oh yeah – I have to be awake by eight p.m., D.C. time," I mutter at him from under my hat.
"Why?"
"None of your fucking business." I prop one leg up on the dash and put on my headphones. Nothing sooths the savage beast like the sound of an angel's voice…
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I know, Tonto is waking me up. I smell of coffee. I realize is that we're not moving. "What time is it – where are we?"
"About seven thirty – D.C. time. I pulled into a diner – black, two sugars," he presses the cup into my hand. "We're right where you said you wanted to stop for the night."
"What a doll, I might get you trained yet," I smirk back at him, tilting the seat back to more of a sitting position so I can drink my coffee. "There a motel around here?"
"Just across the lot."
"Spiffy. Two rooms. Connecting if possible. First floor – I hate stairs." I pass over my card.
"Um – I don't think I can pass as you."
Oh that would be funny… "No one'll care. Besides the idea is for me to leave the paper trail, not you." Not that it would be all that difficult for anyone to figure out who my little driver is – but let's just keep the bulls-eye painted on my back for the time being. After Tonto goes to do my bidding, I get out of the car – my legs are stiff and cramped from sitting like that for so long. Figuring Spencer could use a leg stretch too, we both take a walk. It's a quiet afternoon, hot as hell, though, especially for December. Traffic rumbles by on the highway behind us – cars and a few heavy trucks. If Tonto followed my directions – and can read a map – we should be right on target, just like he said. Of course that's assuming a lot… I light up a smoke and lean back against the side of the diner. It's made of rough adobe…that brings back some rather unpleasant memories… another hot day, another hot brick wall – and a whole fuck of a lot of hurting… Christ, it really is hard to believe that was only a month ago.
I contemplate calling Beth, just to hear the sound of her voice – but I need to get settled first. Make a plan and stick to it – that's what's always gotten me through. And today the plan was to grab a few essentials from my box, pick up my mail and get to just about here (like I said, I'm assuming a lot by assuming that here is really where I want to be… but anyway… ) I'll get settled into my room before calling home… home. I really dig the sound of that word…
By the time I'm finishing up my cigarette, Tonto's back with a couple of room keys; he even manages to lead me across the lot without incident. (I have to stop myself from giving him a pat on the head when we finally arrive at my door.)
"Do you need – any help settling in?" Tonto asks – just a little hesitantly. Guess he remembers that little rap to the fingers I gave him yesterday.
"Nope," I drop my bag just to the left of the door. First things first – air. Motel – an educated guess – yep – right where I thought it would be. I crank it all the way down. Next I find the curtains – open. So I shut them. I don't need the light – and I prefer not to have to worry about peeping toms. Or local fuzz.
"I ah – I'm going back over to the diner to grab a bite to eat – would you care to join me?"
"Nope. But you can a good boy and bring me something."
"Ahh – anything in particular?" He sounds real unsure of himself.
"Surprise me." That outghta scare him. "And don't forget to announce yourself when you come back," I warn, "I have a tendency to shoot first and forgo the questions altogether."
"Ahh – sure – I'll – be back in a few."
Tonto retreats and I take the time I have until he returns to feel my way around the room and set up my toiletries in the undersized bath (yes, the boys' condo has gotten me a little spoiled. Maybe I should ask Beth to look for a place with one of those Jacuzzi tubs… ) I'm just getting the last of my personal gear lain out when I hear a brisk knock at the door.
"Jeff – it's me."
Me. Christ on a crutch. Gun in hand, I greet my boy, " 'Me' isn't someone I know," I grab him by the collar and haul him into the room – if he weren't carrying my dinner, I'd land him face first on the bed. " 'Me' could be anybody, from a company spook sent to tail me, to the feebs or even the fucking local fuzz. So 'me' had better have a name next time," I put the muzzle of the pistol up close enough to his face to drive the point home.
"You really are nuts."
"It take you this long to figure that out?" I let go and holster my weapon (I didn't even have the safety off – but I don't think he knows enough about guns to know that…) "What'd you bring me?"
"Hamburger and fries – and a bottle of water."
"Ok. Scram."
"You're welcome."
I just smirk – and listen to him retreat through the door that connects our rooms. Wonder if he's regretting asking for this little assignment…
I settle on the bed and open up my styraphome box – smells – smells like truck stop hash but what the Hell, it's food. I pick at a couple of fries and fish out my cell phone. Emma answers on the first ring – assures me that all is well and then passes me over to Beth without my even having to ask.
"Hey there, Cowboy."
I just smile – "You have no idea how good your voice sounds right now, Ange…" Mon ange – my angel.
……………………………………………………..
Listen as the wind blows
from across the great divide
Voices trapped in yearning; memories trapped in time
The night is my companion and solitude my guide
Would I spend forever hear and not be satisfied
And I would be the one
to hold you down
kiss you so hard
I'll take your breath away
and after I'd wipe away tears
just close your eyes dear
Through this world I've stumbled
So many times betrayed
Trying to find an honest word to find the truth enslaved
Oh, you speak to me in riddles and you speak to me in rhymes
My body aches to breathe you breath, your words keep me alive
And I would be the one to hold you down
Kiss you so hard
I'll take your breath away and after I'd wipe away the tears
Just close your eyes dear
Into this night I wander
It's morning that I dread.
Another day of knowing of the path I fear to tread.
Oh into the sea waking dreams I follow without pride.
Cause nothing stands between us here and I won't denied.
And I would be the one to hold you down.
Kiss you so hard
I'll take your breath away and after I'd wipe away the tears
just close your eyes dear...
Sarah Mclachlan